


Downfall

by VvardenfellVixen



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Abuse, Altmer - Freeform, Death, Elf Slash Fic, Gay Sex, Graphic Violence, Loss, Love Story, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mild Kink, Romance, Sadness, Slash, Summerset Isles, Trauma, bosmer - Freeform, easy reading, gay elves, sensitive content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24832690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VvardenfellVixen/pseuds/VvardenfellVixen
Summary: This is a prequel that is intended to be read beforeThe Princess and the MercI wasn't certain how to categorize it, but it is also fine to read on its own.My OC Thromwatch Aelsinthar was only ever intended to be a filler character specifically created to harass Vendras and Romlyn, but I loved him so much that he deserved an extensive backstory. I felt the need to give him a reason to behave as he does and there will be much more of him coming in my third installment.This story arc is my real baby and I truly hope you enjoy it. ❤
Relationships: Thromwatch Aelsinthar/Fingorn Nighthollow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Downfall

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel that is intended to be read before **[The Princess and the Merc](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204626/chapters/55550434)**
> 
> I wasn't certain how to categorize it, but it is also fine to read on its own.
> 
> My OC Thromwatch Aelsinthar was only ever intended to be a filler character specifically created to harass Vendras and Romlyn, but I loved him so much that he deserved an extensive backstory. I felt the need to give him a reason to behave as he does and there will be much more of him coming in my third installment.
> 
> This story arc is my real baby and I truly hope you enjoy it. ❤

Thromwatch Aelsinthar belonged to one of the wealthiest families in Summerset Isle's capital city of Alinor. He was a young adult, still struggling to learn his place in the world and figure out who he was. Some might have called him a rebel, others would have called him a normal, healthy young mer who desired to live for his own happiness. However, his strict parents didn't allow for much self expression. They had his whole life planned out for him, from his schooling to even his love life. While Throm was grateful for his family's wealth and for his gift of opportunity, he would have preferred to have some say in the path laid out for him.

Throm was not like other Altmer. He didn't care about magic or politics, but was interested in the art of weaponry and fighting. He wished to master every weapon and join the Fighter's Guild in Cyrodiil to offer his services to the public as well as show off his skill in the arena. But his parents thought that was a waste, and when presented with the suggestion, his father ridiculed him. Nevertheless, Throm took it upon himself to learn in secrecy, and purchased himself a cheap bow and some arrows from a consignment shop, and traveled outside the city limits and into the lush, newly budding wilderness. 

Throm tried and he failed time and time again. After a few failed shots, he threw his bow and kicked stones furiously. Little did he know, someone above was spying on him from the comfort of the trees. His onlooker wasn't sure how he could be so blind, but he was entertained all the same.

Throm hid his weapon in his secret place and left for home to have a drink and calm his frustrations. “Maybe I'm not cut out for this,” he said aloud to himself. “I should just suck it up and head back to my classes like mother and father want me to.”

When the oafish high elf was far enough ahead, his spectator snuck down from his perch in the treetops and landed silently on his bare feet like a jaguar on the hunt. After all that time, if he hadn't seen him, he surely wouldn't hear him, so he crept behind just far enough that he could follow him all the way back to Alinor.

Throm was warm from his rushed walk home. He loosened his collar and took his usual seat in the best tavern in town and ordered a pint of the most refreshing beer they had. After the day he had, that should hit the spot, he thought.

“Hello there.” A Bosmer man had suddenly approached Throm at the bar. He was so short, Throm almost didn't see him at first, but he did notice his feet were bare and filthy.

“Oh?” Throm was surprised as the wood elf climbed onto the barstool beside him. “D-do I know you?”

“Nah,” he said, his dark red eyes, almost black reflected the flickering light of the candles. In his smile, his altered canines glistened, but his features were gentle and welcoming. “I saw you in the woods today. You picked a nice spot to practice. My absolute favorite spot, as a matter of fact.”

Throm flushed with embarrassment. He thought he had been alone the entire time. He didn't respond as he sipped his golden ale, recalling all his pitiful mistakes and struggles in the forest and wondered how many of them this petite elf saw.

“You're not very good at archery,” the wood elf said bluntly.

He scoffed and kept his face forward. “I'm not very good at much anything.”

“I've never heard a high elf admit his weakness before,” the ruddy tan elf laughed, and flipped his dusty brown side shaven hair out of his eye, and held out his hand to shake. “Fingorn Nighthollow.”

“Thromwatch Aelsinthar,” he gripped his tiny but strong and rough hand reluctantly.

“Ugh,” he grimaced at his dreadful sounding name, but then he apologized. “I'm sorry. That was rude of me.”

The large gold elf puffed out a vexed breath of air. “I presume you have a reason for bothering me?”

“Well,” said Fingorn, his tawny brown eyebrows raised, “Let's do the math. You want to use a bow...and I am, in fact, a Bosmer as you can see, Tall Boy, soooo...if you're interested, I can show you a thing or two.”

“Tch. Why do you care so much about it? I don't know you.” Throm tossed back his last mouthful of ale and waved at the bartender for another round.

The wood elf stepped off the stool. His height didn't change much from his seated position, if anything, he was shorter with his feet planted flat on the floor, and Throm still towered over him. “I dunno. There's something aboutcha. You can be this way, or you can take my offer. Thought I was being nice.” He turned his back and made to leave, but something clicked within Throm.

“Wait...”

Fingorn's head whipped back, his sideswept hair whipped with it. 

Throm removed himself from the barstool and rose tall before him, his entire expression changed from natural Altmer scowl to desperation. “I need help...”

Fingorn crossed his arms and grinned widely, baring his carnivorous sharpened fangs and bicuspid teeth. “That's what I thought.”

Throm's attitude switched to bashfulness. “We can't tell anyone. It has to be secret. Please.”

He cocked his head. “That's fine. Whatever. I just hate to see a man struggle like that.”

“I'm serious!” snapped Throm. 

“Okay, okay!”

***

There were many lessons to be taught, and they had to start at the freshest beginning. Fingorn observed and scrutinized Throm's every last move as he continued to completely miss their homemade target. He commanded Throm to take a couple shots as he examined him with intent, ruddy tan hand on his pointed chin in thought.

“Aha!” he exclaimed. “I see your problem already! You're left-eyed.”

“What does that mean?” inquired Throm, somewhat defensively. 

“No, no, it's nothing bad. But if that's the case, maybe try switching hands with your bow.”

Throm followed his request. The weapon already felt overwhelmingly more comfortable in his grasp, like it was meant to be there. Fingorn helped him switch his quiver to the other side so that he could draw left-handed and had him fire off a few more arrows. This time he struck the wooden target they made out of a flat slice of tree stump and some paint, though he was still far from the mark. It made sense. He'd done everything else with his dominant left hand, but he was always under the impression that an archer must be right handed, when he observed the elven military, their formation was precise, rigid, and flawless. Every last bowman held his weapon in the same hand.

“There ya go!” Fingorn praised. “Guess you're a southpaw.”

Throm felt a rush of newfound encouragement in his veins from this vast improvement.

“Don't let it go to your head. There's still much to learn,” warned Fingorn. “I'll teach you how to shoot with both eyes open in due time. Like a chameleon. Always best to be on your guard from all angles...”

***

The pair became great friends over time, even beyond that of archery lessons. Throm honed his skill exquisitely and Fingorn was proud of him, pleased by the happiness that beamed like the sun from his vibrant orange eyes. Throm seemed uptight at first, but Fingorn loosened him up with his cunning quips and snarky remarks. He was funny and his company was overall enjoyable. Throm actually had a decent personality beneath all that bitterness, but Fingorn could understand why he was so moody all the time. He felt sorry for the lad and his home life, and he was glad his friendship could ease his friend's anxiety. But there was something about him he quite liked, and he couldn't shake the feeling as they grew closer with each passing day. He'd taken quite a shine to him since the first day he saw him fumbling around in the forest.

Fingorn stood upon a large rock so he could be level with Throm as he placed his hands on him to manually adjust his posture and the positioning of his hands. An overwhelming sensation of adrenaline and warmth cycled through Throm that puzzled him. Fingorn's cheek just barely touched his as he eyed the head of the arrow, arm outstretched in tandem with Throm's. “Don't slouch. Stand tall and proud like the Altmer you are.”

His sincere words caught Throm off guard.

“Be still...inhale...hold your breath to steady your hand,” he breathed softly and drew his own arm back to his side slowly and with great care so as not to disturb Throm's perfect positioning. “And...release!”

Throm did as instructed, the arrow zipped through the air and stuck in the exact center of the bullseye target they had stationed at a decently far distance. He was so overjoyed he could have danced a jig, but he remained stalwart and still, Fingorn still beside him, still unnervingly close. Before he knew anything, strong calloused fingers delicately gripped his chin and turned his head, damp lips cool from the balmy breeze met with his. Throm didn't understand, but he had no desire to fight him. Fingorn parted his lips with Throm's, fearing what he did was out of line, but their eyes met briefly, and Throm swooped right back in to finish what they started, he could feel Fingorn's mouth curve into a smile, and he smiled too. He didn't think he could possibly fit anymore happiness in his body.

“I...didn't expect that,” Fingorn sighed pleasurably.

“Don't speak,” said Throm. He only wanted to kiss him more.

Fingorn, as the amorous Bosmer he was, had absolutely nothing to object. The elves carried their session to the base of Fingorn's favorite flowering cherry tree, where the plush moss was chilled by the springtime air and the shade, and they enjoyed the heat of one another's bodies. Fingorn's hand wandered, but Throm stopped him. Fingorn respectfully accepted his wishes. Kissing was enough right now, and they did for awhile, until they finally needed to catch their breath. Throm rested his head upon Fingorn's chest and replayed the events of the day in his mind, how fleeting they were, but how elated he felt, like everything in life was good. It had been building up for a long time and he was glad it came out this way. But he was suddenly struck with worry. “We...we can't let my parents find out about this.”

Fingorn was afraid that might come up, as he knew how strict and controlling the high elf's parents were. “Throm, we don't have to pursue this any further if—”

Throm sat up abruptly and took his hand, squeezing harder than he realized in his fired up state and nearly crushed it. “Oh, no! I want this! More than anything. I mean of course...if you do too.”

“I absolutely do.” Fingorn had a thing for Throm from the first time he had spied on him in the woods. He was cute and pitiful and dull at times, though by no means stupid, and he was delightful when he finally chiseled through the hard shell of that mer. He was exactly the kind of person he adored. He loved to be the one to make others happy and saw it as a more powerful type of magic than anything in the entirety of the universe.

“You're the only person who has cared enough about me to help me,” Throm's joy dwindled.

Fingorn shifted his position against the tree and hugged his knees, resting his chin between them, the rusty reddish paint over his right eye smeared slightly from overzealous kissing and a little bit of sweat, some had even gotten on Throm's cheek, which he wiped away with his fingers. “What makes you say that? Surely your parents care about you in their own way. They want you to be educated and successful and to make wise decisions with your life. It can't be all that bad, can it?”

“You don't understand,” huffed Throm. “I...nothing I do is ever good enough. I do everything they ask but...I just want to do something for myself, for my own enjoyment, my own...sanity!”

Fingorn reached for his hand and clasped his narrow fingers around Throm's sausage-y ones. He said nothing.

“And I sure as all the realms of Oblivion don't want to deal with the soulless, strictly business arranged Altmer marriage with some arachnid of a woman I've never met until the day I'm supposed to walk down the aisle. And the sex is so puritanical and dead I'd get more pleasure from fucking a corpse.”

The wood elf winced sympathetically. “That does sound...less than to be desired.”

“This is the life I would lead if I keep on the path others want me to take. I'm a free spirit, Fingorn. They don't like it. I'm not smart, I don't know any nor do I care about magic. They don't even like me anyway. Even when I was a little boy. I'm a disgrace.”

“You're nothing of the sort,” Fingorn said sternly. “You are a talented and passionate and incredibly intelligent elf.”

“Tell them that. My father would beat me senseless if they found out I was learning archery from a Bosmer. And especially if he found out I've been kissing him in the woods as well...”

Fingorn was going to say something, but he realized Throm wasn't exaggerating when he said his father would beat him judging by his body language as he spoke of it. He shielded himself in a subtle defensive manner. From such an oafishly-sized elf, it was a disconcerting response. He was starting to realize that his family may have been much more controlling and abusive rather than concerned about their son's future.

Chewing nervously on his thumbnail, Throm continued. “I wanted to join the Fighter's Guild. When I made the suggestion a few months ago to travel to Cyrodiil, my father...he...he struck me with his jewelry adorned hand and locked me in my room. He cut my lip, but it wasn't the worst injury he's every laid on me.”

It made him uncomfortable that Throm tried to downplay the abuse he endured. Fingorn had noticed marks on him before, that he'd tried to cover up, but they'd peek through on occasion. He hadn't known what caused them until now. Anger boiled within Fingorn. He was certain Throm could see his heaving chest as he became more enraged, but he tried his best to remain calm and collected.

The start of tears formed in the corners of Throm's sunset eyes. “You're my only friend. You have made me feel like my own choices matter in my own life.”

Fingorn hadn't had much experience with an emotionally vulnerable individual of this degree, but something within made him want to stay, like it was his duty to be that person Throm needed. Perhaps it wasn't the ideal relationship dynamic, but he liked the high elf beyond that of simple lust. He might have been able to provide him the freedom he desired. He didn't care what it would cost him and he didn't care if he made promises that he might not be able to keep, but he would at the very least try. He loved the childlike joyfulness on Throm's face when he hit his target with precision accuracy, and he loved the brightness that washed over him when he was showered with praise. Someone had to be there. Someone had to care.

“I like you a lot, Throm. You can always count on me for anything.” He kissed the high elf's enormous hand. Even sitting on the ground he was a gargantuan in comparison to the average sized wood elf beside him.

Throm's bronze-gold cheeks and ears flushed vermilion. His heart skipped a beat. “I want to see where this goes. We'll have to be private about it.”

“Of course. I'm game if you are.”

Dimples formed on Throm's still pinkish cheeks as he tried to hold back an uncontrollable smile.

Fingorn cleared his throat. “Do you...want to go back to the kissing now, Tall Boy?”

Throm burst into a laugh and humored the elf. No matter the situation, Fingorn always managed to make him feel good. He never realized just how meaningful a relationship could be. Was that what this was now? He thought. A relationship? Was this how it was meant to feel? His soul felt so alive he wished it would last forever. 

***

The two continued to meet in secrecy for more archery lessons and tomfoolery. Fingorn was an exquisite coach, and an even better kisser, at least that's what Throm thought, though he may have been biased by the good feels the Bosmer gave him. Soon, their body language signalled it was time to take it to the next level. 

“So what do you think, Tall Boy?” Fingorn nimbly climbed up the side of the tree and sat in the crotch of the branch above them, then chugged water from his canteen. It was his favorite place in the entire forest, with a stream nearby, a nicely sized clearing to practice their marksmanship, and a type of tranquilty that could only have been surpassed by the forests of Valenwood itself. The only reason he even found Throm in the first place was because he spent the majority of his time there after his busy work day in the city. Not surprisingly, he worked as a fletcher, and he designed and carved bows as well. But he looked forward to spending time with his new love interest more than anything.

“Hmm?” the high elf plopped his massive body in the moss just below him at their favorite cherry blossom tree and slurped at his own container of water.

“You...want to have a date night sometime? You know? Wine and such? No work and all play, if you catch my drift?”

Throm didn't say anything, but he smiled and blushed more hotly than he ever had. He couldn't see if Fingorn was looking down on him from the branch above, though his intuition told him he was. He listened as he continued his statements.

“We could make a little camp, spend the whole night alone together...watch the sunrise...”

He leapt down from his perch and landed like a cat on on fours just in front of Throm. “I didn't hear an answer.” His sharp teeth, yellowed slightly from his excessive consumption of meat, glistened in the late afternoon sunlight flickering through the branches as he grinned and he crawled over his lover's lap to steal a kiss. “Come on...whadaya say, good-lookin'?”

The thought did appeal to him, though he was afraid of what his parents would think of him spending the night out.

Fingorn understood. “Just tell them you're staying out with friends. They don't know. That's healthy for a young man of your age, no? To have friends? Surely they'd understand? Or be a bad boy and do it anyway!” He winked.

“They might believe that,” Throm said. He wasn't banned from having a social life, to say the very least, but he wondered if they'd be suspicious about never seeing him in public with anyone. What friends? They would ask him. He made sure never to be seen with Fingorn in public for too long, as much as it pained both of them. He figured it would do well to just be honest. Of course, the truth would be stretched a bit, but he still wasn't lying. They didn't need to know what he did in his private time. And with Fingorn there still on his hands and knees over him, his cute little nose wriggling like a rabbit's just barely touching his own, his void-like mahogany eyes burning into the very core of his being, the temptation was impossible to fight. 

Though the Bosmer was almost begging now. “Come on, Throm. I want to hear your pillow talk.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Throm ran his fingers through Fingorn's hair and sighed. There was no way he could deny him now, not that he wanted to in the first place. “Okay. Tonight?”

Fingorn's smile was as wide as a flooded river, the eagerness could have killed him if he wasn't careful, but he wasn't expecting him to make it so soon. “I'll bring some things so they don't get suspicious. You just bring your big ol' beautiful self.”

All that kissing they did all the time, and the whole ordeal was still surreal to Throm. Did Fingorn even exist, or was he was a figment of his imagination? He was wrought with so much excitement for something new he could hardly contain himself, but he never felt so sure of anything. “I can't wait,” he said.

***

The cool evening breeze washed over the two elves. From beneath the pink cherry blossoms of their most cherished tree, millions of stars twinkled between the petals like a tranquil dreamscape. Fingorn built a small campfire while Throm smoothed out some soft pelts and furs the Bosmer had brought for them over the moss.

Fingorn preferred the forest to the four confining walls of his home, in fact he often slept nestled in the loving arms of the trees or curled up at the roots on the fluffy moss, and he was often seen barefoot, even in town. He claimed that shoes made climbing trees and other structures more difficult. He came from an entirely different world from Throm, but he absolutely adored Fingorn's affinity for nature and his earth-child aesthetic. His nirvana set Throm's entire being at ease.

The songs of frogs and insects painted serenity. Fingorn's fire provided some warmth but just little enough that the big elf beside him wanted to be close, which was deliberate, though Throm wanted to be there anyway. The sleek fur against his skin pacified him and he indulged in the fresh and crisp woodsy air, sucking it deep into his lungs.

"I don't think this night could be any more perfect," the little Bosmer said, campfire flames sparkled in his dark eyes like a celestial body. Throm could have melted as he sat there looking at him. He brushed a strand of Fingorn's hair behind his long sharp ear to better see his face. Fingorn's flesh tingled with his touch and he snuck a kiss onto Throm's palm before he pulled his hand away. He then slid a bottle of wine and two cups from his knapsack and poured them some drinks.

Throm enjoyed the saccharine beverage with its hints of fruits and floral undertones and it heated his esophagus all the way down to the pit of his belly. It was such textbook romance, but he didn't care. It felt exactly the way it was supposed to feel.

Fingorn innocently rested his hand upon Throm's beefy thigh dangerously close to his nethers. It made his heart beat, but he didn't want to let on that it excited him immensely. However Fingorn could feel the pulse intensify in his femoral artery. He didn't say anything so as not to embarrass him, but instead inched his hand closer stifling a naughty giggle as he sipped more wine.

There was no possible way to hide an erection that large unless he'd gone completely invisible, and at that moment, Throm wished he knew how. The intentions of their date were obvious from the start, but he didn't mean to be so eager early in the evening. He thought they were supposed to talk first or something, and take everything slowly and ease into it. Yes, that was the proper way, wasn't it?

"You have positively nothing to be ashamed of," Fingorn's silky voice slithered into his ear and transformed into a pair of luscious lips tracing the edge of his lobe with kisses. Everywhere Fingorn's flesh brushed him felt like fire. “You're just a natural man...like me.”

He was no longer so subtle about his hand placement as he curved his fingers around the outline of Throm's penis tight beneath his trousers and stroked the length of it, which was nearly half way to his knee. A large endowment was to be expected on a large man, but Fingorn found himself more impressed by the girth than the length. He kissed Throm's neck with more feral tendencies, a few tiny moans and groans escaped him beyond his control. He nudged Throm down onto the neatly arranged furs gently, and he willfully obeyed his unspoken request. The smaller elf straddled him and proceeded to ravage his neck with kisses, occasionally grazing him with his sharply filed teeth. Throm's breathing became heavy as Fingorn's pelvis teased against his throbbing hard-on.

A wind carried from the east and jostled the branches above causing several hundreds of petals to rain down upon them. The image of Fingorn silhouetted against the giant moon Masser above him was unforgettable, pale pink cherry petals gracefully cascading all around them, so surreal.

"I love you," he whispered into Throm's ear, the sincerity jarred him, and he took him by the cheeks and pulled him in for an arduous kiss. "Oh, Finny..." he sighed.

"Finny?" The Bosmer chuckled.

"I don't know," Throm said bashfully. "It suits you.

Fingorn smiled brightly. He was always smiling as it was, as was prominent by his etched laughlines, but there was something different about it. "I love it. You call me anything that makes you happy, Tall Boy. I just want to take care of you." He took his giant gilded hand into his tiny tan one and kissed it. "Your skin is as golden and majestic as the sunset in Valenwood."

Throm wasn't used to any kind of praise, let alone a compliment of his appearance, which he got a lot from Fingorn. He still couldn't understand how he was supposed to react, but it made him feel a great deal of confidence. He was the only person who ever lifted him up. He felt like he could do anything with Fingorn by his side.

"I love you, Finny."

The Bosmer's eyes wrinkled with delight as he smiled and he bent forward to kiss the tip of Throm's nose. "I was wrong," he said. "I suppose this night could get more perfect."

He diligently loosened the ties on Throm's shirt and bared his hefty, muscular chest. He was a big man, even as far as high elves were concerned, and Fingorn wanted to feel his flesh beneath his fingers, every caress sent Throm's heart soaring. Fingorn pulled his own shirt over his head, exposing his lean build. He was small, but strong, with a nimble body built for parkour in the treetops. He was youthful and smooth, just barely showing his masculinity in his young adulthood, but his boyish Bosmer face showed hints of experience and wisdom.

"I want to make love to you," he said, sultry and brazen with desire. He unfastened Throm's pants swiftly, as if he'd performed the action many times before, and just as his hand nearly passed that tuft of strawberry blond fluff beneath his beltline, Throm writhed beneath him and, he paused. "Is this okay? You're tense."

"Just nervous."

"Aww. Don't be." Fingorn brushed a strand of gingery hair from Throm's face.

"I've...never been with another man like this." He began to fidget slightly.

"It's not too much different from what you'd normally expect. We'll take it slow. If you aren't comfortable we can stop."

"O-okay," he smiled coyly.

Fingorn thought it was precious. But be wanted their night to be spectacular and memorable. He tugged Throm's pants down just beneath his buttocks for ease of access and he crawled up beside him so he could continue to kiss him as he stimulated him with his hand.

"Do you like that?" he asked sensually as Throm squirmed from his touch.

"Yes."

"Good." Their lips met again, and Fingorn slipped his tongue between them. Throm returned the gesture. It made him feel wild inside like an animal, which pleased Fingorn greatly. No man nor mer were intended to tame their primitive impulses. He almost laughed out loud when he suddenly remembered when Throm told him being with an Altmer woman was no better than making love to a corpse, but he stifled the humorous thought to focus on pleasing his lover. At least he was no cadaver.

It didn't take much time for Throm to show his arousal as he expelled a bit if preejaculate onto Fingorn's palm. Each stroke was intense and filled with purpose. It was time to stop to pursue the hunt further. Fingorn decided he no longer needed to wear the remainder of his clothing as he freed his own wild beast. He was a pleasing sight in all the ways, and Throm craved him like he never had anyone before. It aroused him immensely as Fingorn gave himself a few strokes before returning to those delicious bronze lips, his abdomen kindled inside with unquenchable eros.

Throm kicked his pants off the rest of the way, and now they were both bare beneath the moons and stars. Fingorn paused to admire his body, but noticed Throm was still timid.

“You have nothing to worry about. I want to make you feel good.”

Throm had no objections, but it didn't change the fact it was a new experience for him. It was a positive nervousness, though.

Fingorn inched down below and teased Throm's penis from base to tip with his tongue, which made him shudder. During this session of fellatio, he sucked on his pinky finger and carefully crept his hand just beneath Throm's also impressively sized scrotum and inserted delicately, little by little just to the first knuckle. The sensation was new to him, burning, but strangely pleasurable. Fingorn advanced to larger fingers to ease him into it, the pressure gave him familiar feelings from within, just achieved a bit differently.

“I have to warn you, it's going to hurt a bit and there's no way around it,” he said. “It can take some getting used to.”

“I like what you're doing,” Throm said. “I want this.”

“Do you want me?” he inquired sinfully.

“Gods yes.”

Fingorn admired his enthusiasm and reached for his knapsack once more to retrieve a small jar of lubricating substance and applied it to himself, taking his sweet time as it felt good. “Are you ready?”

He nodded. 

“Touch yourself,” he requested somewhat demandingly as he inserted himself with care. Throm winced, but Fingorn made sure to keep it slow and steady for the most comfort possible. It was distracting at first, but he liked it far more than he ever thought he would. The pressure within intensified the pleasure of the strokes of his hand. He begged Fingorn to go deeper, his desire excited him even further.

“I want you to come,” the Bosmer rasped as he rocked his hips into him. At the rate they were going, it wouldn't be long, and hearing those words spoken out loud riled up the Altmer even more. With a vigorous thrust, he struck a nerve within and Throm erupted suddenly, his stream potent like a geyser, making Fingorn sinister and hungry with passion. He took his partner's semen glazed fingers and licked each one like a starved animal, which both appalled and delighted Throm as he sucked on them until they were nearly clean. It was one of his favorite things after pleasuring a man, and had him hot and bothered like a wild savage. He could not suppress his own lust any longer, and with a few more pumps, he ejaculated inside his lover, shuddering violently from the mighty impulses of his own orgasm. “Sweet Y'ffre,” he sighed. The act made him lightheaded and put him in a dreamlike daze momentarily. “Wow...”

He'd broken into a sweat, his penis now half limp, which he removed delicately. He climbed onto their makeshift pillows and rested there to collect himself. Throm continued to relish in the prickling after effects. When Fingorn gained some clarity once again, he placed a loving kiss upon Throm's lips then buried his face in the crook of his neck. Throm could feel him smiling against his skin, basking in the afterglow.

“I've never in all my life came as hard as I did tonight,” Fingorn confessed. “Damn.”

“I could say the same.” He was a bit tender, but he liked the lingering reminder of what had just ocurred, wishing he could relive it.

“That was beyond sexy,” Fingorn kissed his neck. “You taste divine. I hope I wasn't too carried away, I couldn't contain myself.”

“I'd have told you,” Throm snickered. “It was wonderful.”

He rolled onto his back, letting the cool breeze chill and dry all the areas that had gotten moist from the variety of bodily excretions. Throm edged downward and spread his torso over Fingorn's chest. It made him smile. He was heavy and made it a bit difficult to breathe, but he appreciated the snuggly affection. Most of the men he'd been with were afraid to show it after completion. He draped his arm around the big elf and squeezed. “I really do love you, Throm,” he said like he'd just had a revelation. He combed his fingers through Throm's strawberry blonde hair, slightly wet from perspiration, but he didn't care. Fingorn's touches made him shiver as he was still rapturous from their session.

“Do you want to keep doing this?” he asked, sounding fearful like Throm was going to run away and never look at him again. It was peculiar for Fingorn, who was normally so sure of himself. Throm hoisted his bulky torso onto his elbow so he could look at him. “Are you joking? This was the best night of my life, Finny. It can only get better.”

He chuckled at “Finny” again. He thought it was adorable coming from such a masculine elf. “I'm glad,” he twirled a strand of Throm's hair around his finger subconsciously. The fire had dimmed down to glowing embers, the coals had the same vibrancy as Throm's eyes. “Can I confess something to you?”

“Of course.”

“I...” he paused to try to think of the best words. “I've been with a lot of people, but I've never felt quite like this about anyone. It's different somehow.”

Throm reminisced about all the “dead fucks” he'd ever been with. If anything was love at all, he was sure this was it. “I feel the same.”

“You're very special, Throm. I hope you know that.”

He didn't know, but he might start to believe it the more Fingorn Nighthollow hammered it into his head.

Fingorn must have taken his silence as objection. “Don't you ever cut yourself down, Thromwatch Aelsinthar. I'm impressed by your quick progress, and I'm generally impressed by you.”

It was out of character for Throm, but he couldn't suppress his need to kiss him right then and there. For once, he didn't want to think of anything negative, and Fingorn happened to be polluting his moment with ill thoughts. “Shut up and kiss me.”

As the springtime eased into the sweltering hot summer, the elves spent nearly every night together, doing what they normally do and vigorously making love in the forest like the animals they were. Throm's heart swelled with every moment spent with Fingorn. He was cheeky and fun, and the best teacher he could have ever asked for. When they weren't being serious, he was making him laugh, or trying to come onto him—which always ended in success.

Throm excelled at archery. Fingorn never admitted out loud that he surpassed him in skill. He didn't want to give him a swollen head, but he was proud nonetheless. His gigantic lover had so much passion and will, never ceasing to amaze him, and hoping that it would make him follow his dreams. His heart ached for Throm and his home life. He deserved the world, and he wanted to give it all to him.

“I'm going to be busy in the city for awhile,” Fingorn sounded discouraged. “I have work orders galore I must fulfill for the Thalmor.” His face scrunched up in disgust, knowing it was a vile deed to support such an atrocious faction.

Throm assured him it was an acceptable choice. “I can't blame a small business owner for wanting to make money. You do what you have to do to survive.”

“I just wanted you to know. I'll be at my home in town at night for the time being. I've pointed it out to you before. You remember where it is?”

“Indeed I do.”

“I want you to have this, so you can come and go as you please. I know it's hard for you at home. If you ever need a place to escape, even if I'm not there. It's my spare.” Fingorn pressed an ornate skeleton key into his palm and closed his big fingers around it. “And if you ever need a warm lover in the night, of course.” He winked. But inside he also hoped the Altmer wouldn't be so stubborn if he ever needed his help. The more Throm talked about his situation at home, the more he became worried about the elf. He was strong, but he could tell that he was repressing a lot of emotions, and he often downplayed the severity of his situation. 

Throm embraced Fingorn tightly and kissed the top of his head. “Thank you.”

“I'm sorry about this, but I've been putting it off. I've been enjoying my time with you too much.”

Throm smiled. “Don't apologize. You have duties to attend to. Take care, my love. I'll see you around. Perhaps we'll innocently meet up for evening drinks at the tavern?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Fingorn beamed. “Love you.” He stood on the tips of his toes while Throm bent forward so they can give each other one final peck before they parted ways.

***

It was a quiet evening in the Aelsinthar household. Dinner was late, and it was a calm start as they ate their meals. After a brief glance from his wife, Throm's father broke the silence. “What have you been doing as of late, my boy?”

A lump formed in his throat, and he nearly choked on his bite of food. Did he know something? “I've been spending time with friends.” It wasn't exactly a lie. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Not particularly,” his father responded emotionlessly. “It's just that you haven't been paying much attention to your schoolwork. Your mother and I are quite concerned. You're a man now. You haven't made any effort to make anything of yourself or follow our instruction to ensure a stable future. You seem to just be...horsing around at the bar all the time.”

Throm felt heat in the tips of his knife-like ears. He wanted to say it was because whenever he tried to apply himself, they always disparaged him. But he refrained from making any sort of remark or calling him out. He didn't feel like suffering the wrath of his father's ogre-like fists this night. Throm knew already what kind of night this was going to be, so he sat there, enduring his father's verbal abuse. It disgusted him. His appetite vanished.

“You are disrespectful to your mother and I.” Throm's father cut his meat and ate as if he wasn't putting his son on blast and guilt tripping him. “Everything we do is for you, Thromwatch. We've been around for a long time and we know what's best. You haven't made any effort whatsoever.” He turned to his wife. “Dear, perhaps we should send him to the town guard, or better yet, military school with the Thalmor. He might learn respect yet.”

Throm had heard enough. He couldn't help himself as he slammed his fist down on the table. “You know damn well I want nothing to do with the Thalmor. I don't care about the Empire and I don't care about witchhunting innocent people for believing in whatever gods they please.”

“And this is exactly what's wrong with you, boy!” his father spat. “You have no respect for authority. The Empire and Aldmeri Dominion has our best interests in mind. The Empire wishes to keep all of Tamriel united to avoid war and strife...and people like you always have to go against the grain.”

“That may be so, but I don't care. I just want to live my life. In any regard, The Thalmor do not want the same things. They're only worried about who worships who. Why should it matter to me if the Nords worship Talos, or if the Dunmer want to worship Daedra or the Tribunal? It's not my or anyone else's responsibility to worry about anyone's sins or where they wish to spend their afterlife. It isn't right, father! I want no part of it. People should be free.”

The veins in Throm's father's temple became visible, but he didn't respond to Throm's rant, as much as it infuriated him.

It came as no suprise to Throm that his mother sat in silence yet again as her husband made it a point to argue with him. She never stood up for him. He couldn't even stand to look at her, with her upturned nose and soulless green eyes. Pitiful that most Altmer women were just like her, submissive, bitter, never challenging their husbands like obedient dogs, never equal. Throm wasn't sure if it was her marriage to his father that made her so dead inside, but the fact she couldn't be hassled to support her own son when he was right spoke volumes to him.

Instead of staying on topic, Throm's father continued to berate him, calling him an idiot, a disgrace, an ingrate, a low life, any other perjorative and obscene term under the sun. and it only got more hateful as he carried on. After all, the old mer could never be wrong about anything. His word was gospel, as asinine as it may have been, and his own logic often contradicted itself.

Someone had to stand up for Throm, it may as well have been Throm himself. “I don't have to take this!” With brute strength, he whipped his unfinished dinner on the plate across the room, nearly striking his mother, though it wasn't his intention, even if it would have satisfied him immensely to injure her.

His actions sent his father into a frenzy. He flipped the whole table, sending food everywhere. He had enough of his son's insolence. Before he even could consider flight, his father slammed him into the wall, his enormous fist met with Throm's jaw. Blood seeped through his lips and he spat out a tooth.

“You'll clean this mess up at once!” the elder Altmer hissed and shoved Throm onto the floor. His wrist cut on a broken shard of plate. “DO IT NOW!” He kicked him as hard as he could in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He grabbed Throm by the nape of his robes and threw him on top of the mess. “You have one hour. Get to work.”

Throm coughed and sputtered, but he did as requested, as fast as his injured body would allow. Upon completion he crawled back to his father. “I've...done as you...asked.” He was exhausted and in pain, but showing no remorse, his father grabbed Throm by the hair and dragged him up the stairs to his bedroom and he threw him across the room, toppling shelves and spilling his books onto the floor. Throm had no fight left in him. He was weak. And his father proceeded to beat him until he injured his own hands, and he spat upon him when he had his fill. The door slammed and locked behind him.

A wave of emotions swirled into Throm's mind as he lay broken and beaten on the floor, drenched in his own blood and soaked with urine. One side of his head and eye swelled so much he lost his vision. His lung was collapsed and he struggled to breathe as tears poured from him. He had to get out of that house once and for all. The abuse was too much to handle. With great effort, he dragged his body to the window. It was difficult to fiddle with the window latch with his bruised and swollen wrist, but he managed, and he attempted to take his usual path to the ground from the upper story, but he lost his balance in his weakened state about half way down and plummeted the rest of the way. When he regained himself from the agony of exacerbating his injuries, he pulled himself all the way to Fingorn's front steps. It took every last ounce of his energy to bang on the bottom of the door, but he had to alert his lover somehow. But no one came. The world around him went black.

Fingorn discovered the bedraggled Altmer lying on the stone steps on his way home from the bowyer shop. He ran to his side and fell to his knees. “Throm! Gods, Throm! What has he done to you?!” He had no regard for his own small stature. The adrenaline allowed him to deadlift Throm into the house and to the bed. Throm faded in and out of consciousness.

He didn't remember much when he awakened, and was startled by the new environment. Fingorn was right by his side sitting on the floor, gripping and stroking his hand, hushing him sweetly and laying him back down to rest. 

“Finny? What happened?” Throm remembered how to feel pain again, and he flinched when he moved. It was agony.

“You were in a coma for nearly two weeks.” He no longer looked vivacious, but exhausted and rundown. “I've been taking care of you, bathing you, nursing your wounds, feeding you...he...he nearly killed you, Throm! I thought you were going to die!” Tears trailed down his tan flesh. Throm had never seen him like this, but he suddenly remembered how he'd ended up here. He tried to sit up again.

“No, my love. Stay still. You have broken bones that are still healing. I did everything in my power. The rest is up to nature to handle.”

Throm couldn't deal with the sorrow in his eyes.

“This is the final straw, Throm. I've seen the bruises and the cuts, even in the moonlight. But this...this can't happen. He should never lay a hand on you like that...we're going to get out of here. I don't care where we go, but we're getting off this island. As soon as you are able bodied, we are leaving the entirety of Summerset far behind us.” After wiping his tears on his sleeve, he took Throm's hand again and nuzzled it, kissed it, and held it against his cheek. “I was afraid I lost you...I never want to be that afraid ever again, Throm. I love you dearly.”

Aches and throbbing pain pulsated in various parts of Throm's body. He cut his tongue on the sharp edge of a broken tooth. His once radiant and flawless smile was reduced to nubs and gaps. Nothing would ever be the same again. A sinking feeling formed in the pit of Throm's stomach when he registered how long Fingorn told him he was gone. “Oh no!”

“What's wrong?”

“The guards will be looking for me. I'm a missing person. Mother and father might find out about us!” His chest began to heave, it was hard to breathe from the pain of his ribs.

“Shhh. Hush now. Don't you fret my love. If anyone comes to my door, we will be honest. No one has to know our personal affairs. As far as they know, you are just my friend, and they will assume as such.”

“Yes. Yes you're right, Finny.”

“Come on. I'll make you something to eat. You must be starved. I couldn't get you to keep much down while you were unconscious.”

Judging by the savory aromas in the house, he'd already put something on earlier in the day. It was stew, something that didn't take too much effort so he could remain by Throm's side until he woke up. He brought in a bowl for him. It contained mostly venison, and had a few vegetables sprinkled in sparsely. He made the stew with Throm's nutrition in mind, but Fingorn didn't have much of a taste for green food having grown up in an area that conscientiously upheld the tenets of The Green Pact in Valenwood. Fingorn himself didn't mind eating them outside of his province, as it was only frowned upon within, but still preferred meat. Throm reached for the bowl, but Fingorn denied him. “Your wrists are injured and too weak to hold this yourself right now. I don't want you to scald yourself with hot soup.” He held the spoon to Throm's lips, but he felt humiliated.

“Let me help you,” said Fingorn. “We'll work on getting you strong again, but for now this is how it has to be. There's no shame in being cared for, my love.”

Throm finished every last drop of his stew, but he observed as Fingorn hobbled slowly about his home. He must have stayed by Throm's side every moment. “Finny, you need to get some rest. You're going to keel over.”

“I'm fine,” claimed the stubborn wood elf.

“Please,” Throm begged. “There's enough room in this bed for you too.”

“I prefer the comfort of the trees.”

“I want you here beside me.”

Fingorn cocked his head and sighed, but gave into temptation with a tiny smirk. He nestled himself beside the big elf with care so as not to disturb his injuries. Throm kissed the top of his head. He smelled like he had forfeit much of his own personal care just to tend to Throm's needs. Though he was not foul, in fact he quite enjoyed his natural scent.

“I can't thank you enough, Finny.”

A disconnected “Mmhmm,” emitted from the spent little elf. He had already fallen asleep. 

“You deserve some rest,” Throm whispered and rested his lips on his brow. “You deserve everything.”

Both elves jumped to a mighty pounding on the front door. The looked at each other in shock. Fingorn leapt up to answer. He opened the door just enough to poke his head through. Beyond the threshold stood a handful of city guardsmen. “Is this the residence of Fingorn Nighthollow?”

“Speaking. Is something wrong?”

“Thromwatch Aelsinthar has been reported missing,” said the heftiest of the Altmer guards, judging by his armor style, he must have been a higher rank than the other three.

Fingorn scoffed. “He's not missing!”

Throm was mortified by his honesty. He struggled to stand, but made it to his feet and grabbed the nearest object he could use as a cane.

The guard was shocked by this revelation. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Clean the shit from your ears. I said Thromwatch Aelsinthar is not missing. He simply doesn't want to be found.”

The guard began to show signs of annoyance. “His family wishes for his safe return home. Now I will ask again, _tree monkey,_ do you know his whereabouts?”

The damage was already done, so Throm decided to roll with it. “By the eight, I'm right here, for crying out loud!” The disabled Altmer hobbled in. He happened to know these guards personally, and thankfully so, because they were often lenient with him due to all the run-ins when his parents would go after him for being a normal lad, and he suspected that they had a good idea how his home life fared, but no one ever spoke up due to his family's financial pull in the city.

“Throm! By the gods, what happened to you?” One of the lower ranked guards asked. 

“I...fell. And my friend here has been fixing me up. Tell father and mother that I'm fine and not to worry. I'll come home when I'm feeling better and I apologize for not writing them.” He felt around in his pockets searching for coin. It might be just enough to get them to leave out the details of their encounter, but he couldn't find the contents. Fingorn had taken his belongings out to bathe him and wash his clothes, and ran to get his coinpurse.

He emptied a few gold pieces into his hand and offered them to the guards, but they declined. “Don't worry about it, Throm. We know.”

“Thank you.” His father would surely beat him more when he eventually returned home.

The guards left and Fingorn locked the door once more. Throm nearly collapsed as pain shot through his ribs and his knees. 

“You shouldn't be walking!” Fingorn helped him back to the bed.

“You're lucky it was those idiots,” Throm spoke with effort. 

“I was just being honest,” Fingorn protested. “I had no reason to lie, no reason to make a criminal out of either of us. What's strange about friends staying out together? Besides, it got them off your trail, didn't it?”

Cringing with excruciating agony, Throm shifted his weight to get comfortable and sighed. “No Finny, you're right. It was a smart thing to do.”

“I know I'm right,” he agreed. He plopped into the nearest chair, a forlorn expression on his countenance. “I just wish...”

“Wish what, love?”

“We shouldn't have to be like this. We should laughing together at the pub drunk off our faces and dancing together, holding hands in the street...we should be kissing in the sunshine by the fountain in the town square.”

“I know.” And Throm wanted that more than anything.

“It's not like we're the only ones. Mara's love is for everyone.”

“My father is peculiar,” said Throm. “He's always been very vocal about his disdain for same sex couples. It's more important to him that I marry and bear children to carry on the family name. Moreover, I'm convinced he hates all forms of love. In his eyes, life is about duty and purpose and any deviation from the course is an abomination.”

“I'm so sorry Throm. I'm behaving very selfishly right now.”

It irritated Throm that he would even make such a remark. “Why do you say that? Because you are proud of us? Because you want us to be able to live our lives happy and free and you want everyone to know it? You are not selfish. You don't have a conceited bone in your body. Everything you do is for other people. Everything you have done, you've done for me...you have every right in the universe to be upset.”

Fingorn approached him and sat on the bedside. “I'm apologizing because I've been misdirecting my frustration to you for something you can't control. It's wrong of me. Your father pulverizes you to the brink of death over minor disgagreements, and I'm crying about absolute nonsense, like a fool!” His tiny tan hands were quivering and he bounced his knees nervously.

“We need to have a serious discussion, and better we do it now. Look at me, Tall Boy. Do you love me?”

Throm's head tilted with puzzlement. “Of course I do. What an absurd question.”

“I know you do...I just wanted to see what you would say. I have no doubt about any of this. I...am willing to give up everything I've established here over the years. My business, our favorite spot under the tree by the brook...the people I've met...all of it...if it means a safe and healthy life for you.”

He had nothing to say in response.

The wood elf inhaled deeply through his nose and stared at the floor, still wiggling his legs. “You told me you wanted to go to Cyrodiil and join the Fighter's Guild. Does that still tickle your fancy?”

“Yes. I...I would like that.”

“We can go anywhere, Throm. Anywhere in the whole world. You don't have to keep getting hurt. You don't deserve that. So I need to ask you, and you need to be honest. Do you want to stay here?”

He'd never thought about it before, but looking back, there was nothing left for him in this place. His life, had it not been for the influence of Fingorn, was stagnant, destined for nothing but misery and resentment. “No.” Throm said with utmost certainty.

“Then that's what we have to do. I can sell my stock. I can always rebuild again elsewhere once we settle. We can hop on the next passenger ship to the east when the hurricane season eases up. That will give us all the time we need to prepare.” 

He was starting to get happy again the more he spoke of it. “We could stop in Valenwood before we head to Cyrodiil and you could meet my parents. They'd adore you.” 

There was that beaming smile Throm adored, though it was shortlived

“I've seen too much darkness here in Summerset...it's draining the life out of me. I can't stand seeing you hurt...and a life with you...that would mean everything to me. That is, if you'll have me. It's all up to you. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, and I know how difficult it can be feeling the guilt for taking time for yourself. But you don't owe that bastard father of yours anything at all. He doesn't deserve an incredible son like you!” Fingorn began to weep once again. “How? How could he do this to you? How could he defile such a beautiful face? A wonderful soul?! Such cruelty...it isn't right!”

Throm didn't care how much his body ached, burned, or throbbed. At that moment, he needed Fingorn in his arms. “You've done more for me in these past few months than my father has done my entire life.”

“This is love, Throm. Real love. And you are worthy of that.” They kissed. One of Throm's jagged broken teeth cut Fingorn's lip, but he didn't care. He licked the blood away and caressed his lover's cheek. “He can break every bone in your body. But never let him break your spirit.”

Throm couldn't force back the tears. They streamed down his face. Fingorn's deep mahogany eyes tore deep into his soul. “I love you, Fingorn.”

“And I love you, Thromwatch. Let's leave Summerset. I grow tired of this place. Beneath the gorgeous exterior of this land lies a foul darkness. Let's leave it all behind and chase our dreams together. Wherever you want to go, my love, I'll chase you like the twin moons chase the sun out of the sky.”

***

Over time, Throm regained much of his range of motion again, though he walked with a slight limp. Fingorn assured he would make a full recovery. He stayed in his home while he worked during the days. He had been so busy catching up on his orders he didn't return until well after dark, but Throm was always happy to see him walk through the door.

“What a day!” Fingorn sighed. Throm was resting in the other room and hadn't heard him come home. There were leftovers from dinner for Fingorn on the dining table. After he'd had his fill, he couldn't wait to wake Throm up for his surprise. He caressed his arm gently until he stirred. He smiled drowzily when he saw who was tickling him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Fingorn moved in for a kiss.

“It's late.”

“I know.”

“Did you eat?” 

“Yes. Dinner was divine. Thank you.” He brushed back Throm's strawberry blond hair so he could better see his face. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

“It's why I've been out so much later than usual. Close your eyes.”

His head poked around the corner. “Don't peek.” 

Throm's ears wiggled as he honed in to the shuffling of Fingorn's feet on the wooden floorboards.

He retrieved Throm's gift and held it out. “Okay. I'm ready. You can open your eyes.”

Throm's heart nearly stopped. Presented before him was the most beautiful hand crafted recurve bow he'd ever seen. Enamored and eyes wide, he took it from Fingorn's hands, and caressed the polished black wood, marbled in places with white. There were embossments and filigrees in carefully formed detail made of ebony, and a grip fitted perfectly to suit Throm's enormous hands. He positioned it and drew back the string. It felt like magic in his hands, there was most certainly an enchantment placed upon it.

“Finny...this is gorgeous. Thank you! Thank you so much!”

Fingorn beamed. “There's also an engraving on there just for you. It's simple and kinda corny but...I think you'll appreciate it.”

He turned the bow over in his hands to find it. Just on the underside of one of the limbs there was a single cherry blossom etched into the wood, and just beneath carved in elegant calligraphy were the words _"Shoot for the stars. Love you forever—Fingorn Nighthollow.”_

Indeed it was simple, but it was the most powerful thing Throm had ever felt. He began to cry. “Finny, I love you so much.”

Fingorn held him tightly. “A beautiful person deserves a beautiful gift. You have become an fantastic archer, Throm. Let that be a reminder that you should do the things you love, and always be proud of who you are, no matter who tries to stop you.”

Throm buried his face into his chest and cried. He couldn't believe how much kindness could come out of such a small person.

“Don't cry just yet, my love. Wait until we take that thing out into the woods and fire it. Then you can cry.”

Throm chuckled through his tears. Fingorn always knew how to make him laugh, even at the most inappropriate of times.

Fingorn lifted his chin so he could look him in the face. “I love you, Thromwatch Aelsinthar. I look forward to our new life together.”

***

The time had come at last and Throm was overjoyed. He couldn't wait to run away with Fingorn and he didn't care if they ended up in Cyrodiil, Elsweyr, Hammerfell, or sail the seas to lands unknown. It didn't matter one bit. He wanted to be as far away from Summerset as he could where he could follow his dreams and his heart could swell. That's what life was supposed to be, was it not? Throm had never been so certain of anything in his life.

Alas, Fingorn's door was locked. Throm knocked eagerly. "Finny? Are you there?"

Silence. Throm listened. Not even a cough or shuffling of feet or the clanging of dishes. Maybe he'd fallen asleep.

"Fingorn?" he called out again and knocked harder. Bollocks. Fingorn was a wood elf. His hearing was sharper than cold steel. And he always commented on Throm's pounding trollish blows to his humble door.

Throm fumbled around in his pocket for the spare key Fingorn gave him for, in his own words, "when he needed warm company in the night."

Some of the teeth were nicked which made the lock finicky, but he eventually got the door open. He gasped, his heart stopped. Tables and furniture were flipped, pottery and other such valuables lay smashed and strewn about the floor. There was a pair of arrows stuck in the door frame to Throm's left, so Fingorn had clearly put up a fight against whoever ransacked the place. But where was he?

Throm could hear a sickening gurgling sound from around the bend, terrified of what he was about to find.

"FINNY!" the large golden elf dropped to his knees. Fingorn was clutching at his bleeding throat. Someone had meant to slit it but botched the cut. He was bleeding out slowly but his esophagus was torn and so he struggled there gasping for breath, the stench of shit and piss and blood burned Throm's nostrils and Fingorn's eyes once brimming with love and life stared soullessly at Throm, clinging on to whatever he had left. Why? Why did he have to suffer?

This was the beginning of death. This was his final remaining ember about to extinguish and it was too late to help him. Throm's throat and stomach tightened and he heaved uncontrollably, every function of his body kicked into overdrive. He took the little elf in his arms and he sobbed profusely. Fingorn's formerly glimmering deep red eyes fixed on Throm, but could he even see him? Was he looking at or through him? "Finny! Why?!" Throm held him close and his still warm blood spilled over his fine elven garb. Covered in his own snot, vomit, and tears, Throm held him against his body tightly. Fingorn's last breath wisped through the gash on his neck. It was a sound of abnormal violent passing no one should ever have had to hear. He fell completely still. It was over at last. No more pain.

Throm cried until there were no tears left to cry. It felt like his eyes and nose had been glued shut, his head throbbed and his body ached, but emotions had been spent. He couldn't feel anything anymore as he laid beside his now cold and still lover in a mess of his fluids.

Adjacent to the little wood elf were words of malice inscribed in his blood, racial and other slurs. There was a note pinned to the floor just beside the profanity with the same knife that had been used to cut Fingorn's throat. Throm crawled to it weakly and pulled it up. The knife was dull and it hadn't stuck very deep. He tried to rub the blurriness from his sticky swollen eyes and he strained to read it.

_"You have disgraced this family and violated your duties as a man to carry on our pure bloodline. You have defied me for the last time. You have only yourself to blame for this. Let this be a lesson to you. I hope you come to see reason."_

Throm did in fact have one emotion left to spare, quite possibly his last. He closed Fingorn's eyes delicately and placed a final, long and strained kiss on his brow. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

There was only one thought in his mind, one purpose. His heart thumped with rage, his body teeming with poisoned animosity. He kicked open the front door of his home and stormed up the stairs to where his mother and father slept and broke the door nearly off the hinges. They sprang from their slumber with terror at their hulking son drenched in blood looming over them, his orange eyes aglow with an indescribable feral rage.

His mother made to scream but he tossed her through the dresser. His father was next. He threw a punch but Throm caught his fist in his and shoved him to the floor, knelt on his shoulders and double hammer fisted his face. The bones crunched revoltingly beneath the weight of the punches and the warm life fluid sprayed in all directions as Throm's mother screamed and cried from the other side of the room. He wanted his hands to break through the other side of his skull. He beat him until his own hands were numb, the shock ringing all the way up his forearms, the mer's face squishy, twitching and sputtering hunks of meat and blood. Throm then heaved the disfigured sack of flesh over his shoulder and smashed him through the glass window where he landed with a grotesque thud to the cobblestone two stories below.

Throm's mother was begging and pleading, but he was deafened by his own fury. He tossed her to her husband where she belonged. His swollen fists throbbed. It was the only thing that he felt. He stumbled back to Fingorn's home and he fell beside his cold corpse, defeated. There was nothing left for him anymore. He took Fingorn's body close to him as he used to beneath the stars on cool nights by the brook in the forest. He didn't care about anything as he closed his eyes and drifted off.

The next time he awakened, his hands and feet were bound, his cheek against cold damp stone that smelled of mildew. He was disoriented at first, but everything came back to him at once, and he despised the fact he was still alive as fresh memories of his lover's dying expression flashed into his mind. His body desired release, but he had nothing left in him, and so he sobbed dry tears. 

“Silence, you fucking monster!” A guard smashed the bars of the cell with a stick. “You don't deserve to feel regret now, you pile of shit! Not after what you did!”

It meant nothing to Throm. After what he'd been through, nothing could hurt worse than what he felt ever again. All he knew was that he wasn't going to be staying long. He'd make sure of it.

It took less than a month for the High Elven Court to decide on sentencing for Thromwatch Aelsinthar. His parents both miraculously survived the assault. His mother now walked with a cane from irreparable spinal injury, but his father no longer had a face, his gaping holes covered by bandages and a mask, there was a hole pierced in his throat so he could breathe. His spine also broke in the fall and much of his body was paralyzed, no amount of magic or medicine could fix the things wrong with him and he required round the clock care. The judges thought it might be ample punishment to see his mother in father in this state in their court room, but he felt no remorse. He was glad they lived so they could suffer. Death was too good for them. Fingorn may have been gone, but at least he no longer felt pain.

The assault was like nothing they had ever seen, but so astonishingly gruesome and heinous they sentenced Throm to be executed as soon as there was another opening. They didn't want him wasting resources in their prisons and they didn't feel safe exposing him to other prisoners. It infuriated him that there would be no justice for Fingorn's assassination. He hated the corruption and he knew his parents paid hush-hush money to dust it all under the rug and frame him as Fingorn's murderer. Their lack of honor sickened him. He spit on them both as they dragged him back to the dungeons after the court hearing, a guard struck him hard in the back of the head with the pommel of his sword.

 _I refuse to die here,_ Throm thought to himself. He began his escape plot. And he had the perfect plan. He knew what he had to do. He was bigger than everyone else. It couldn't fail. It couldn't...

He didn't know how much time passed, but he heard the door on his cell unlatch, the guards yanked him to his feet, and he complied. It was not time to take action just yet. They chained his feet and hands and dragged him out of the dungeons. “Move, wretch!” A guard whipped him in the back with a metal rod, causing him to buckle, but he maintained his footing. After what he'd gone through, nothing hurt him anymore. 

They marched him through the town, where the citizens threw stones, broken glass, and any other hard objects they could find. They weren't typically rowdy and outraged as this, but this was the most heinous crime Summerset had seen in centuries. The gallows was set up in the center of town. Throm could hear the onlookers speaking to themselves. “They were gonna put him on the chopping block, but because he's so big, his neck will either snap immediately, or it'll be too strong and he'll hang there until he turns purple. I hope it's the latter. He should suffer for what he did. That bloodthirsty monster...that poor little wood elf.”

“Forget the wood elf, his poor parents! Have you seen the Aelsinthars? What a travesty.”

It infuriated him. They blamed him for the murder of the only person he ever loved. If only they knew how corrupt their beloved wealthy elite were. Classism was a plague on their society. _The rage is good. Get angry,_ he enouraged himself. _It can only help you._

A sharp rock struck him in the side of the temple. Others spat on him and threw buckets of waste. His blood boiled.

“STRING HIM UP!”

“HANG THE BASTARD! GET ON WITH IT!”

“JUSTICE FOR THE AELSINTHARS!”

And there, just as he arrived at the gallows, he saw his parents for the first time after the trial. He hated them more than he ever had. Watching their son hang was more important to them that atoning for their wickedness, for their vile act against an innocent man who never deserved to die.

The lawman who was leading the execution approached. Normally they recited from a scroll, but this one had his speech memorized. “Thromwatch Aelsinthar, you are hereby sentenced to death by hanging for the atrocities you have committed against denizens of Alinor.”

He recited the names and titles of the three victims. Throm was livid when he heard Fingorn's name spoken aloud.

“Due to the nature of your actions, your rights have been completely overturned, last words forfeit. If you do not die from the initial hanging, you will be tortured until you die.”

Just as the hangman made to slip the noose around Throm's neck, he took action. He used the back of his head to smash the face of the hangman. The guards drew swords, but Throm used the chains of his shackles to his advantage and disabled them just long enough to get away. It wasn't in the plans, but a stroke of luck caused one of the guards to drop his shackle keys, he grabbed them prompty and ran. Even with the shackles on his legs, his long legs gave him the distances he needed to get away quickly. The whole city was in the square to witness the event of his execution, which worked in his favor and gave him the time to hide just long enough he could free himself of his bindings. There was one last thing he wanted to do before he left, and he prayed to all of the Aedra and Daedra that it was still there.

He kicked the door in to the late Fingorn's home. The body and blood had been cleaned, but the mess from the night of his final hours still remained, haunting and taunting. He was poor and didn't have anything that anyone would call monetarily valuable, all but one thing. By the gods! It was still there, just as he left it. Astonished, he grabbed the keepsake bow that Fingorn crafted with his own hands. There was a quiver with a few arrows left that he might have been able to get by on, but he had to make them last until he reached the wharf.

He sniped a few guards on the way, but he did not shoot to kill. There had been enough unneccesary death in Alinor, and it wasn't the fault of the guards. They didn't know Throm was innocent and his actions justified.

When he at last arrived at the port, he crept between shipping crates and listened to two sailors to get an idea of where to go. One mentioned a ship leaving soon for Stros M'kai, an island south of Hammerfell. It would have to do for the time being until he could reach the mainland. One by one, he held the sailors in a chokehold until they lost consciousness. He utilized the stealth abilities Fingorn had taught him, and he managed to succesfully weasel himself into the cargo hold of the ship set on a course for Hammerfell, where he nestled himself into a crate and waited, just him, the rags on his body, and his precious bow. No one thought to open the crate to check the contents. 

He'd even managed to fall asleep, if only from sheer exhaustion. His large body cramped from cramming himself inside the box. He didn't know how long he'd been in there, but he could feel the box dangling from a mechanism and lowering to the dock below. He listened intently, and once he heard no more hustle and bustle, he kicked the lid off to reveal an unfamiliar landscape of sand and palm trees. This was it. He was in Stros M'kai. He had managed to singlehandedly escape the heavy hand of the Altmer justice system. And for what? Fingorn was gone. Why was his will to live so strong when he felt nothing but misery? He had to move quickly before the Thalmor presence in the other provinces were alerted. 

It was from there henceforth that Thromwatch Aelsinthar began his journey, never knowing or caring if he'd live or die, He traveled eastward over many years, only stopping long enough at each place to make enough money to reach the next, until he finally parked himself in Raven Rock on the island of Solstheim, where he met a peculiar Dunmer who never removed his helmet.

“Greetings, outlander.”


End file.
